I smiled at the question on a survey form, utterly bemused. It was as if the words were uttered by a teary-eyed adolescent, mortified and battered from the wounds inflicted by the orbiting world.

In the end, I merely wrote: To live the purpose.

Purpose? What purpose? Yes, I can hear you thinking.

Many of us- if not each and every living being infesting and digesting the essence of Mother Earth, have posed the questions above. Some are committed to annoying friends with them, with the tenacious desire to obtain an answer. Some others are more discreet, preferring to keep their doubts and suspicions to themselves while searching for an answer. In either case, it doesn’t matter much. If you don’t suscribe to the belief of reincarnation- you probably did not ask to be born. If you do- you probably chose your parents beforehand.

Notwithstanding the proposed notions, as we dish out such an inquiry, remember that we have always been living the aforementioned purpose of existence. Living the life.

Stepping into places filled with memories, staring into a past with nonchalance. Simultaneously, your mind identifies changes that have occurred while recognition registers in your mind upon encountering familiarity.

Deja vu? Ha ha.

Several months have gone by since I went back to my home- situated in a very tranquil area. The eventual return to the students’ apartments, my part of the room and the coming and going of vehicles on the street. They were already anticipated, since from the college, Monash is just across the street. Coming back, I’m not daunted by the contents held by my future, although I do wish peace for myself. Yet, one cannot deny the slight thrill she feels upon being able to remember the location of Watson’s and the coordinates of where an item sits in a supermarket.

All guitar players- regardless of age and demographical factors, or the genre of music they create, share one defining similarity. When somebody informs you that he/she has picked up the guitar for a while, how do you determine if it is the truth? Besides borrowing Freud’s mastery or seeking the help of Professor X.

Like the dedicated violinists, the roughness of our fingertips becomes the common accessory we don over time. Don’t worry about courtesy. Ask, and we would be pleased to show you those callouses. They have the texture of a sandpaper, and the honor of being the evidence of our persistence. The absolute proof that a guitar player has triumphed against the initial challenge of enduring, and becoming immune to the thin metal strings that pierced mercilessly into the flesh.

Hence, the next time you look at your own wounds, laugh instead of sinking further into darkness. Besides serving as indelible reminders, they tell you that you are still alive. Why? Because people don’t waste time drawing blood from a corpse.

Prior to a visit to Barrossa’s Valley, even enthusiastic tourists’ most vivid impression of the picturesque, scenic town would be associated with the variety of alcohol it has to offer. This is only natural. Throughout the many years we have passed together, clinking glasses of Shiraz and Choc-a-Bloc have always been used as virtual invitation cards by parties concerned.

The eagle you may spot at the entrance of Wolf Blass, which gives us an insight to the various types of wine churned out by Barossa.

The display racks with bottles of wine in Wolf Blass

Australia's famous for its borderless pastures

The famous family tree, which bears some resemblance to the Whomping Willow

Nicely groomed flowers and plants at the roadsideSome of the white roses

The Whispering Wall of the Barossa Dam. Where you are able to hear conversations taking place at the other end with clarity. This is apparently the unintended result that occurred after the dam was constructed.

Last but not least…

Some local youngsters who decided to join in the fun when my father posed with the statue Hindley Street in the city. This sort of insanity seems to be rare in where I live.

I suppose we can agree that photographing natural elements has a somewhat distinct difference from taking snapshots of skyscrapers and indoors’ objects. Besides some requisite adjustments of techniques, it somehow gives us another sense of euphoria, to be able to capture the life that emanates from within trees and oceans. To be able to magnify man-made accomplishments is one form of expression. Nonetheless, to maneouvre technology in order to create magical moments from god-given treasures is to narrate another older, surviving story.

The older, ancient people whom we call our ancestors, believed that every being in the forest possess a spirit, a soul. While this idea may seem absurd to a considerable portion of our modernized society, it wouldn’t be inconceivable at a primitive era of human existence. After all, trees, ferns and flowers live and die. It is not hard to imagine that the remaining space of pristine forests are populated with freed spirits of once-living plants and seeds. If we ever walk into a forest similar to one that belonged to the Na’vis, it would be as if this territory have been blessed by them.

If only it is still possible.

Here are some fragments of nature I have photographed during a brief stay in Melbourne. One may notice that in spite of its business and development in the city, there’s still relatively a lot to experience if you are a wildlife enthusiast. May we be thrilled.

Even in the present years of digital revolution and technological innovation, it is pleasant to find that many of us still appreciate black and white pictures. Besides the sense of nostalgia that resurfaces upon glimpsing one, people tend to notice the story beyond the lenses. Without the disguise of hues and colors, the photographs are reduced to its original simplicity.

No doubt, colors, if used correctly, are able to spice up elements with bustling life and energy. Colored photographs emerged and became popular because people had (and has always) appreciated this. Yet, decades of thrill and excitement had also taught us to appreciate blandness. Black and white photographs have enabled us to be a witness to the intensity in our characters, or even the minds of the individuals who wield and maneouvre the cameras.